the prey of modern speculation, and of that disregard of all intellectual dignity which marks with disgrace the forehead of the age we live in. That secluded temple of fancy and contemplation,

"Where ling'ring drops from min'ral roofs distil,"

the Egerian grotto, where nobly pensive St. John sat and thought," and where

"British sighs from dying Windham stole,

And the bright flame was shot through Marchmont's soul,"

is now abandoned to the hammer of the carpenter.

Thomson, who lived near Pope, without possessing his opportunities of displaying his taste in gardening, equalled, perhaps we might say excelled him, in a passion for rural objects. He would stand by his window for an hour and listen to the nightingales. He had a quick eye for the charms of landscape-gardening; how the pencil lives along such a line as the following,—

"Or gleams in lengthened vista through the trees.'

In the Seasons

the journal of a poet of nature-his affection for scenery and flowers displays itself in exquisite loveliness. How deliciously coloured are the following flowers; every tint glows:

"Fair-handed Spring unbosoms every grace,

Throws out the snowdrop and the crocus first,

The daisy, primrose, violet darkly blue, And polyanthus of unnumber'd dyes; The yellow wall-flower stain'd with iron brown,

And lavish stock that scents the garden round;

From the soft wing of vernal breezes shed,

Anemonies; auriculas enrich'd
With shining meal o'er all their velvet

leaves,

And full ranunculas of glowing red. Then comes the tulip race, where Beauty

plays

Her idle freaks; from family diffused
To family, as flies the feathery-dust,
The varied colours run."-Spring.

The amiable Shenstone painted flowers with the pencil, and recom

mended the amusement as a pleasing solace of a summer hour, but he could not rival, in his verse at least, these exquisite colours of Thomson's pen.

Shenstone possessed a garden, more elegantly disposed even than Pope's He loved to lie upon a green bank in the sun,*

"When the old come forth to play
On a sunshine holyday;"

or to wander through the shady grove which he had consecrated to Virgil. But Nature has no enchantment in her cup, except it be blessed by Religion and Content. It has no beauty unless Peace wreathe it in flowers. "I feed my wild ducks," complained the poet, "I water my carnations! happy enough, if I could extinguish my ambition quite, or indulge the desire of being something more beneficial in my sphere." He sighed because he had turned out of the dusty highway, into the cool and sheltered paths of sequestered life. Horace Walpole laughed at Shenstone for being miserable, except when his garden awoke the admiration of visitors; but Walpole confesses that the same anxiety for praise excited his own feelings during his earlier residence at Strawberry Hill. That passion, however, for applause presently died away; and he then began, as he tells us, to shudder at every ring at the gate. One anecdote of his petulant ill-humour is good enough to be repeated here. He had been worn out by successive parties of visitors; at length a wet day set in; the rain descended in torrents. To-day, at least, exclaimed Horace to himself, I shall not be annoyed. Vain hope! He had scarcely uttered the words, when a violent ringing announced an arrival. It was a party desiring to view the house and grounds. "Tell them," said Walpole to the servant, while the rain dashed against the windows, "that they cannot possibly be permitted to see the house, but they are quite welcome to walk in the garden."

Shenstone had a better heart than Walpole, and in his pleasing poem on Rural Elegance he has gracefully alluded to his favourite pursuit :

† June 1749.

"And sure there seem of human kind

Some born to shun the solemn strife, Some for amusive tasks design'd

To certain ills of life;

Grace its lone vales with many a budding

rose,

New founts of bliss disclose, Call for refreshing shades and decorate repose."

When we remember that Shenstone had no model for many of his pleasing designs in landscape-gardening, we may readily forgive the few marks of ill-taste which have been noticed at the Leasowes-his zig-zag walk, his gilt urn, and what George Mason called a few collegiate peculiarities. One is inclined to smile at his half-playful, half-serious complaint, that his opulent neighbours at Hayley anticipated every thing which he proposed to do when he became rich; and there is something of a pleasant malignity in his communicating to the same friends that a caterpillar had demolished the beauty of all the large oaks at Hayley, while his own trees were protected by their littleness. Horace

Walpole alludes to the embarrassed circumstances of Shenstone. Poor man! he had, indeed, some business for a collector of rents, when he told one of his correspondents that a tenant owed him three years and a-half's rent, of which he could not obtain any portion.

The most elegant picture of the Leasowes was given by Whately in his Observations on Gardening. The prospect from the grounds was of the richest and most varied description. Immediately before the eye lay the large town of Hales Owen. The Wrekin, at the distance of thirty miles, was visible in the horizon, and the farm of the Leasowes breathed a pastoral repose over the landscape. A delicious grove overhung a small valley, through which flowed a clear rivulet. Whately's description is more beautiful than any rural picture to be found in the verses of Shenstone:

"The stream rushes into the dell by a very precipitate cascade, which is seen through the openings in the trees, glimmering at a distance among the shades which overhang it. The current, as it proceeds, drops down several falls, but

between them it is placid and smooth; it is every where clear, and sometimes dappled by gleams of light, while the shadow of every single leaf is marked on the water, and the verdure of the foliage above, of the moss, and the grass, and the wild plants on the brink, seems brightened in the reflection. Various pretty clusters of open coppice wood are dispersed about the banks; stately forest trees rise in beautiful groups upon fine swelling knolls above them, and often one or two, detached from the rest, incline down the slopes, or slant across the stream. As the valley descends, it grows more gloomy; the rivulet is lost in a pool, which is dull, encompassed and darkened by large trees, and just before the stream enters it, in the midst of a plantation of yews, is a bridge of one arch, built of a dusky-coloured stone, and simple even to rudeness; but this gloom is not a black spot ill united with the rest, it is only a deeper cast of shade; no part of the scene is lightsome. A solemnity prevails over the whole, and it receives an additional dignity from an inscription on a small obelisk, dedicating the grove to the genius of Virgil."‡

This is a very charming description, and the spot seems to have been worthy of it. The composition of Virgil's Grove is a frequent theme in the correspondence of Shenstone.

It was here that he erected an urn to the memory of Thomson, who was to have visited the Leasowes in the week that the intelligence of his death arrived. In a letter to Graves, Shenstone says,-"I have begun my terrace on the high hill I shewed you, made some considerable improvements in Virgil's Grove, and finished a walk from it to the house." Sunday evening seems to have been the public hour of resort to the Leasowes, and in one of the roothouses of Virgil's Grove, Shenstone placed a very pretty rustic inscription. The place was, indeed, not unsuited to the fairy by whom the lines were supposed to be written :

"The shade, High-roofed, and walks beneath, and alleys brown,

That opened in the midst a woody scene; Nature's own work it seem'd (Nature taught Art),

And to a superstitious eye the haunt
Of wood-gods and wood-nymphs."
Par. Reg. b. ii.

Here Oberon, "in cool grot and mossy," might delight to trip away the summer noon. I return to Whately.

Pain's Hill, near Cobham, Surrey, is also described by him, and his description derives an additional charm from the remembrance that Pain's Hill still remains in perfect preservation.* Its proprietor, Mr. Hamilton, is said to have studied pictures with a view to the embellishment of the park. Whately calls it a new creation. But, passing to Hagley, the celebrated seat of Lord Lyttleton, which Whately describes, I cannot resist the temptation of extracting his account of the Tinian lawn:

"It is encompassed with the stateliest trees, all fresh and vigorous, and so full of leaf that not a stem, not a branch appears; but large masses of foliage only describe an undulating outline. The effect, however, is not produced by the boughs feathering down to the bottom; they, in appearance, shoot out horizontally a few feet above the ground to a surprising distance, and form underneath an edging of shade, into which the retreat is immediate at every hour of the day. The verdure of the turf is as luxuriant, there as in the open space. The ground gently waves in both, over easy swells and little dips, just varying, not breaking, the surface; no strong lines are drawn, no striking objects are admitted, but all is of an even temper, all mild, placid, and serene; in the gayest season of the day, not more than cheerful; in the stillest watch of night, not gloomy. The scene is, indeed, peculiarly adapted to the tranquillity of the latter, when the moon seems to repose her light on the thick foliage of the grove, and steadily marks the shade of every bough. It is delightful then to saunter here and see the grass and the gossamer which entwines it, glistening with dew; to listen and hear nothing stir, except, perhaps, a withered leaf dropping gently through a tree; and, sheltered from the chill, to catch the freshness of the evening air. A solitary urn, chosen by Mr. Pope for the spot, and now inscribed to his memory, when shewn by a gleam of moonlight through the trees, fixes that thoughtfulness and composure, to which the mind is insensibly led by the rest of this elegant scene.'

Alison, I believe, quotes this passage in his Essay on Taste. It is certainly extremely chaste and pleas

ing, and deserves all the praise which Alison bestows upon it. That ingenious writer might, however, have referred to the following lines of Thomson, which Whately seems to have remembered when describing the silence of the Tinian Grove:

"The pale descending year, yet pleasing still,

A gentler mood inspires; for now the leaf

Incessant rustles from the mournful grove, Oft startling such as, studious, walk below, And slowly circles through the waring air."-Autumn, 937.

Whately, as we learn from Loudon, held a situation in the Treasury, and possessed a small picturesque place near Chertsey. He died soon after the publication of his Observations on Gardening, and after his death appeared some remarks on the characters of Shakspeare. He was evidently a person of great accomplishments and of a most graceful and refined taste. Alison, in some respects a kindred spirit, praises the elegance of his style :

Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps
his pen,

Delightful industry enjoy'd at home,
And Nature in her cultivated trim;”-

Such seems to have been the fortu-
nate life of Whately. So graceful a
writer should have given us a history
of rural life in England. It might
have been a companion for the Sea-
sons of Thomson, in a more modest
dress. Gray was acquainted with
Whately's Observations on Garden-
ing, but he alludes to him very
coldly. Describing a summer tour
through Gloucestershire, Shropshire,
&c., he tells Dr. Wharton that he
descended the Wye from Ross to
Chepstowe, and that he would find
the beauties of that lovely river “not
ill described by Mr. Whately, under
the name of the New Weir."
that period, Gilpin, and still more re-
cently Wordsworth, have made the
banks of the Wye classic ground.

Since

It is impossible to linger upon this subject, or to paint all our poets in their gardens. The poet Mason has left at Aston in Derbyshire some evidences of his taste in gardening; and with what an attractive counte

Being of Beings! Yes, that silent lay, Which musing Gratitude delights to sing,

Still to thy sapphire throne shall Faith convey,

And Hope, the cherub of unwearied wing."

Mason was not always an amiable man, but his intellectual features assume a pleasing expression when he gathers a flower. His poem upon gardening is cold and artificial, but he possessed a very cultivated taste, and very considerable knowledge of the subject. Aston commands a view of the Peak.

It was observed of Linnæus, by a French writer, that his glowing love of flowers induced him to believe that he had a worship to establish, of which he was the prophet. His dial of flowers was, indeed, the work of a poet. But Cowper is one of the most agreeable eulogists of gardens. He had no ample domain, like Shenstone or Pope, to embellish with all the graces of taste. He shews us what may be done in a little plot of ground; and we always turn to the third book of his Task with peculiar pleasure. It contains a most delightful sketch of the Christian gentleman in the country, living in the duties of religion, among his books and in his garden. It was said of Virgil's husbandman, that he used a pitchfork with elegance; and we certainly are not offended by the spectacle of the poet of Olney, with a

*Task, b. iii.

The bright profusion of her scatter'd stars."t

This picture may be compared with the preceding one by Thomson. There is less glare in the style of the Weston poet, than in that of the minstrel of Richmond. Thomson often produced a lively effect by his Oriental tinting; but Cowper employs only the purest colours.

We might expect that all violent reforms in horticulture and landscape - gardening would excite the censure of Cowper, and accordingly we find him inveighing against one of the most famous professors of that day :

:

"

'Lo, he comes! Th'omnipotent magician Brown appears! Down falls the venerable pile, th' abode Of our forefathers -a grave whisker'd

Sinuous or straight, now rapid and now

slow,

Now murm'ring soft, now roaring in cascades

Ev'n as he bids."

The poet might have introduced a little light into this dark picture. Brown, with all his perverse ingenuity, possessed original genius. He completed in a week the lake at Blenheim, which is said to be one of the finest pieces of artificial water in the world. Cowper, who loved the overarching boughs of old trees, resented the reckless intemperance of Brown, who cut them down without remorse. Sir William Chambers complained, that if the fashion of destruction continued, in a few years it would be impossible to find three trees in a straight line from the Land's End to the Tweed. Brown was, however, sometimes very successful in disposing grounds. The view he obtained of Cheney's Church, at Lord Cavendish's seat of Latimer's, displayed his ability to create beauties in a landscape. Yet at the same place he planted a narrow vale by the side of an artificial river, with circular clumps of firs alone : fortunately, their death restored the scene to its beauty. In speaking of Brown, Stowe, Trentham, Richmond, and Blenheim, should also be remembered. The pleasure grounds of Harewood House were designed by Brown, and subsequently improved by Repton and others. "I have not seen," is the observation of Horace Walpole to Mr. Conway," the improvements at Blenheim; I used to think it one of the ugliest places in England; a giant's castle, who had laid waste all the country round him." Every one now allows the merit of Brown's achievements there. When Walpole visited Blenheim some years before, he expressed his disgust in one of the many vivacious letters which he addressed to George Montagu :-" The place is as ugly as the house; and the bridge, like the beggar at the duchess's gate, begs for a drop of water, and is refused." Walpole was not equally satisfied with the performances of Brown at More Park, where he had undulated the horizon into so many artificial molehills, that it looked natural "

i had

passes." Having spoken incidentally of Stowe, I may give Walpole's very amusing and characteristic notice of it; merely adding, that a summer day would be most agreeably employed in visiting that magnificent residence. Its attractions are of a

peculiar description; not the sanctity of age; not the glory of wonderful exploits;-but a series of illustrations of the eighteenth century :—

"Every acre," as Horace Walpole wrote to George Montagu, in the summer of 1770, brings to one's mind some instance of the parts or pedantry, of the taste or want of taste, of the ambition or love of fame or greatness, or miscarriages of those who have inhabited, planned, decorated, or visited the place. Pope, Congreve, Vanbrugh, Kent, Gibbs, Lord Cobham, Lord Chesterfield, the mob of nephews, the Lyttletons, Granvilles, Wests, Leonidas Glover, and Wilkes, the late Prince of Wales, the King of Denmark, Princess Amelia, and the proud monuments of Lord Chatham's services, now enshrined there, then anathematised there, and now again com. manding there, with the temple of friendship, like the temple of Janus, sometimes open to war, and sometimes shut up in factious cabals-all these images crowd upon one's memory, and add visionary personages to the charming scenes that are so enriched with fanes and temples, that the real prospects are little less than visions themselves."

The distinguishing feature of Brown's improvement in planting was known by the name of the clump. This circumstance has occasioned an amusing anecdote. When Brown was high-sheriff, some person seeing that his servants were straggling, called out to him, 66 Clump your javelin men!" A pleasantry not ill deserved by the vainest man in England. While contemplating one of his own canals, Brown is said to have broken into an apostrophe, more remarkable than that in Russelas :-" Thames! Thames! thou wilt never forgive me!" In mentioning Blenheim, I may add that Vanbrugh exerted his genius in constructing the chimneys at Blenheim, which, although when nearly contemplated, appear too ponderous even for his building, yet in the distant views, as Price observes, where their want of congruity is not apparent, they produce a rich and grand effect.

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